Young Things
by underachiever aesthetic
Summary: London, 1975: a country runaway, a sociology student, and an orphan swept by a strange man off his Surrey doorstep find home in a house of misfits.


The culmination of many night's coversation. There's a larger storyline here, which we can try to write if there's interest.

* * *

Harry, for his part, has wanted to leave Surrey for maybe seventeen years. He thinks the Dursleys have wanted him to, too, but this is the first time they take the opportunity to ship him out.

It's probably because they want this filthy man off their doorstep - the neighbors are staring - and they sure aren't about to let him into the house. To be fair, even as eager as Harry is to move out, he's not entirely sure he trusts the man who claims to be his godfather. But within thirty minutes, Petunia has managed to scrape together old clothes, a book, and a bag, which she presses on Harry. She can't stand to hug him, and frankly Harry can't stand to hug her, so they nod awkwardly to each other and then Harry goes with the man.

"I'm serious," says the man. "Serious black."

Harry shakes his head, more focused on his shoes, which are already getting ratty. He must look a mess. "You're definitely not black," he says.

"Serious," repeats the man. "Serious is my name. Serious Black."

Harry squints at the man. He's only a little shorter.

"That's unfortunate," he says, and Serious Black laughs.

[||[||]||]

They are on the bus the next time Harry decides to ask something. "Are you really my godfather?"

"Really," says Serious, whose name had been spelled Sirius when Harry had craned his neck to see his ID when he'd bought them tickets. He has a flask of something strong smelling; he swigs it. "I was your dad's best friend."

"Where were you all this time? If I was at the Dursleys'?" Harry asks.

"Prison," says Sirius nonchalantly. Harry chokes on his next breath. "Don't worry, I was completely framed."

"How'd that happen?" Harry asks, trying to subtly adjust his seat in case he's sitting by a murderer.

"I got tricked to the wrong place at the wrong time," says Sirius. "It was one of my best friends who tricked me, actually."

Harry waits patiently for more, but Sirius doesn't continue, and Harry doesn't know how much he wants to ask.

[||[||]||]

Harry falls asleep, to his annoyance, and when Sirius gently nudges his shoulder to wake him up, it is dark, the moon is only helping a little, and it looks like they're in the city.

"It's near that way," says Sirius.

"Near where?" Harry asks groggily. "What's near where?"

"You'll see," says Sirius. It's absolutely in bad form to trust him, especially since he's apparently a convict, but Harry follows.

They stop in the middle of the street, between a derelict house and a slightly less derelict house across the street. The streetlights are doing their best, but the glow they cast doesn't do anything but make the entire street eerier, and it smells suspicious. The street is empty in the way that feels like, even if nobody's visible, there is someone out there anyway, and Harry, who only has a thin jacket, shivers a little.

Sirius fumbles with a key for a moment, then unlocks the door to the house and goes in, holding the door for Harry. Harry steps around a pile of bikes in the grass and glances at a lawn chair that, on first glance, is decorated with a rather unusual pattern, and on second glance, has obscenities written all over it, then follows Sirius into the house.

[||[||]||]

"Remus," says Sirius, loudly enough that it echoes in the hallway. There's a sound like a cough, and they go down a dimly lit hallway to a better lit hallway to a kitchen, which is bare and seems covered in a fine layer of dust. There's a man sitting at the table in the middle, his hands folded around a chipped mug, his hair shaggy around a sallow face and his eyes tired, and a girl next to him, blonde and straggly, wide eyes.

"You still up?" Sirius says, dropping his coat on a hook by the door. The man shrugs.

"Dean and Seamus went out," he says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "I'm giving it another two hours before we go check with Kingsley. You found him?"

"Yeah," says Sirius. "Harry, this is Remus, he was your dad's other best friend, and that's Luna." Sirius sits down by Remus and kicks the last chair to push it out enough for Harry.

"Hi," says Harry, not sitting.

"That was faster than I thought," says Remus to Sirius. "They let you just take him?"

"You got the feeling they were glad to be rid of him," says Sirius. "Sorry, Harry," he adds, hastily.

Harry sits down.

"You're skinny," says Luna frankly. Harry catches a strong odor of peppermint.

"Yeah?" he says. He picks at his sleeve.

"You don't say much," she observes. Harry snorts.

[||[||]||]

"Your father used to live here too," says Remus. "Him and your mother. But they died, you know." He takes a sip of what smells like very strong, cheap tea.

"Yeah," says Harry. "My aunt told me. Car crash."

"No," says Sirius. "No, they got killed. They were getting too close to figuring out how Voldemort works for his comfort."

"Voldemort?" Harry asks. "Is that a DJ name?"

"Drug lord," says Luna. "Runs a drug ring. Very powerful." She barely glances up from the paper she's folding miniscule pleats into.

"What?" Harry asks. "My parents were killed in a drug ring?"

"No, they were killed by the drug ring," says Sirius.

Harry is about to make a sarcastic comment, but he's interrupted by a banging sound and heavy footsteps. Remus checks his watch, just as two boys come into the room, out of breath and laughing.

"I was getting ready to go bail you two out," says Remus, looking up at the taller of them.

"Shh," says the shorter one, who has long hair in his face and a distinct accent and is still shaking with mirth. He drops his hands to the counter and tips his head back and up at the other boy, who crams his hand over his mouth to hide his chuckling.

"Did you get caught?" Sirius asks.

"We're here, aren't we?" says the tall one. "Did Kingsley bring you a new one?" He peers at Harry critically, but he's still smiling.

"This is Harry," says Remus. "He's James's son."

The tall one's eyebrows creep up.

[||[||]||]

The boys, Harry learns, are Dean and Seamus, and they run up the stairs as soon as Remus looks away.

"If Dawlish saw them..." says Sirius, and Remus nods.

"Dawlish?" Harry asks, because it's such an absurd name.

"He's a cop," says Luna. "Doesn't like Dean. Really, I don't think he likes anyone."

"It's late," interrupts Remus, as though he's just realized it. "Harry, you must be tired. You want to go up and find a mattress to crash on?"

"He does," says Luna, looking up from her paper and eyeing Harry. "We can answer your other questions tomorrow."

"Sure," says Harry.

He is not sure he can sleep here, but he does, eventually.

[||[||]||]

Harry has a lot of questions for them, and so the next day he sits down with Remus and Sirius and learns about his parents.

"Our best friend," says Sirius, "Was named Peter. But just after your parents got killed, he tricked me into going the wrong place and I got put on trial for selling drugs. And you know what happened with that." He glances at his empty hands, flexing them slightly.

"After they got Lily and James," Remus adds, "they lay low. Can't risk the cops closing in. But now Sirius is out of jail, and politicians are bought off, and they're coming back."

"One of the professors at the University went to the authorities," said Sirius. "Old Dumbledore. He knew Voldemort when he was in college. But the police are looking the other way for the most part, so Dumbledore had a few of his students and a few...other people from the city start hunting down information. Your parents were city kids. We all were."

Remus nods.

Harry has already sort of met Dean and Seamus, who come down to the kitchen then with a girl with a red buzz cut and as many ear piercings as freckles. "We're going out," announces the girl.

"Dawlish said he was sending the social worker," adds the short boy. Seamus. Last night, he'd had his hair in his face; now it's tucked behind his ears, and he looks younger than Harry had expected. Dean, the tall black one, nods, and then all three of them are out before Remus can respond.

"The social worker," repeats Harry.

"She keeps nosing around Seamus," says Remus. "She thinks he's underage and here illegally."

"Is he?" Harry asks, before considering that the question might be rude.

"He's not underage," says Remus.

[||[||]||]

"When your parents died," said Sirius, "me and Remus were going to take care of you. Well, me mostly. Remus wasn't..." He hesitates. "He wasn't capable of taking care of a baby. I took you for a week, but then I was set up and the authorities dropped you with those awful relatives of Lily's."

Harry nods.

The next person to interrupt Harry's backstory is a boy with a copious amount of freckles and grungy, brownish green hair, who comes in and rattles around with the plates in the cupboard before stopping to appraise Harry.

"Who's this?" asks the boy. "Kingsley bring him?"

"This is Harry," says Remus. "I knew his father."

"Oh," says the boy. He crosses to Harry and holds out his hand. "I'm Ron. Weasley."

Harry takes the proffered hand. All he can think to say is, "Cool hair."

Ron laughs, runs a hand through it self-consciously. His ears go red when he laughs. "I wanted it to be black. Cheap dye."

Harry nods, bemused.

Ron tilts his head one way, then the other. "Can you play the drums?"

Harry blinks once, twice. "Well, how hard could it be?"

"That's the kind of answer I like," says Ron, and his face cracks into a wide grin.

[||[||]||]

The social worker doesn't come that day, but Harry opens the door to let in a girl with dark skin, a notebook, and a cloud of hair. "Oh, hi," she says.

"Hi," he says. "Are you selling something?"

"No, thank God," she says.

"Do I…?" Harry says, letting the question trail off.

"Hey," says a voice behind him - Remus - and Harry turns slightly and steps aside. The girl comes in.

Her name is Hermione, and she's a student from the university. She sits down with Ron at the table and announces in a bossy voice that she wants to go over budgeting and finances.

Harry watches, bemused, as Ron and Remus talk about where they shop, and how much money they get, and where they can get it, as Hermione scribbles notes in her book, until she glances over at him and says brightly "And who are you?"

"Harry," says Harry. "Er, I'm Harry."

"Harry," she repeats. "Where are you from? Why are you here?"

"Er," says Harry. Hermione tips her head to one side. "I'm from Surrey."

[||[||]||]

Hermione asks a lot of questions until Harry is rescued by Seamus, who comes through and interrupts and drags Harry off to "have fun."

"Sorry about her," says Seamus. "She's been hanging around for a few months or so. Writing a paper, something about lower classes in London or something. But she's been hanging around gawping and poking her nose places."

"Oh," says Harry.

"The first time she heard me talk, she kept trying to get me to spill my childhood to her." Seamus snorts and shakes his head. "Talk about living in Belfast and shite. Like I'd want to tell her."

Dean and the girl are outside the house; the girl is in the obscene lawn chair and Dean is leaning against the mailbox.

"Hey, new boy," says the girl. She stands up and holds her hand out to shake. "I'm Ginny."

"Harry," says Harry, and shakes her hand.

"Harry," repeats Dean. "So, what's the deal with you and Remus?"

"I guess he knew my father," says Harry. Dean nods.

"I've heard a lot about your dad," he says. "He sounds like he was a good man."

[||[||]||]

Dean and Ginny go off somewhere. Seamus claims they're doing something illegal, and sits down in the lawn chair and appraises Harry.

"So why are you all here?" Harry says. "What is this?"

"It's our house," says Seamus. "Really, it's just Remus's place, but he lets people who are down on their luck stay."

"Oh," says Harry.

"So what are you, runaway?"

"No, Sirius came to get me," said Harry.

"Weird." Seamus shrugs. "That'd make you the only one, really. I don't think any of us knew Remus."

"I don't know him," says Harry. "He knew my dad."

"Huh," says Seamus. He stretches his feet out in front of him and stares at them; his shoes are ragged. "I'm here because Kingsley brought me in."

"Kingsley?" says Harry. He's heard the name maybe three times now.

"He's a cop, but he's nicer to us. Brought me here after I got brought up for stealing."

"You were stealing?" Harry asks. It occurs to him that it's a personal question, but Seamus doesn't seem to mind.

"Yeah, I was living on the streets and I stole food."

"Oh," says Harry.

"Ron and Ginny are brother and sister, they were living in their car. And Luna was on the streets, too. Dean spent the most time out there, though, there was a lot going on. I don't know everything."

"Oh," says Harry.

[||[||]||]

Harry meets Kingsley the next day, because Ron decides that they are going out to see the area, and furthermore that Harry is going to see the clubs where the band plays. The band is apparently just Ron and his sister.

Kingsley is tall and black, and when Ron waves and heads over, he folds his arms, as if to appear stern, but lowers his head slightly and greets Ron with a friendly air.

"This is Harry," says Ron.

"Hi," says Harry.

"He looks like James," says Kingsley. "Lily's eyes, though."

Harry shifts uncomfortably.

[||[||]||]

The club is in a basement. It is dark and smells dreadful and is full of people with patched jackets and colored hair. It's the sort of place he thinks would make Aunt Petunia spontaneously combust if she set foot in it. Ron returns with a pair of beers and Harry looks at his suspiciously, unsure if he wants to take a drink from anyone here. Noticing his hesitation, Ron snorts. So Harry cracks it open and takes a defiant swig.

They grin at each other.

The band of the night introduces themselves, gruffly. Everyone whoops, even Ron beside him. Harry joins in. And then, after some fiddling with cords and guitars, they begin to play.

As the first angry chords vibrate through the basement Harry feels something wash over him, something magical.

He resolves to really learn to play the drums.

[||[||]||]

"How do you know the Volda-what's-it guy is back?" Harry says one afternoon. "There're plenty of drug dealers out there. They're not necessarily connected."

"Oh, boy," says Dean from where he's leaning against the counter, squinting. Harry has the impression that Dean doesn't trust him.

"It's in the little things," says Remus, who has a newspaper from a trash bin somewhere and a pipe. "The way people address each other, the number of dealers who avoid certain places. Fenrir Greyback hasn't been seen in a few weeks-"

"Good," grunts Dean.

"Which could mean he was put in prison, or it could mean he was recruited and is lying low, which is bad for us. And more and more politicians are arguing against legislation to punish dealers and for legislation that punishes users."

"Yeah, and then there's lots of rumours," adds Dean. "You go in the right circles, you hear it."

Harry wonders which circles exactly Dean goes in.

[||[||]||]

Upstairs, someone is having sex, and so Harry leaves the house to sit in the rude chair and wait for the house to be safe. Seamus and Ron both join him after a moment; they are pointedly avoiding looking at either the house or each other.

It's Seamus who breaks the silence; he glances at Harry. "Did you meet the girls across the street yet?"

"No," says Harry, surprised.

"Good plan," says Ron. "Ignore it by going to a whorehouse."

"What?" says Harry.

[||[||]||]

Lavender and Parvati are the girls across the street, and after a moment of awkward standing while they chatter at each other over Seamus's head, they shake his hand and invite him in. Harry tries not to look around, and he can't remember feeling more awkward in his life.

Luna is here, too, Harry notes; she's sitting on the bed and sorting through a pile of papers. Harry glances at Seamus, who is leaning easily on the dresser and already deep in conversation with Lavender.

Harry glances at the other girl- Parvati, who has dark, sad eyes and a long plait, and an oversized flannel shirt over her dress.

"So," he says, but he can't continue.

Parvati grins and puts her hand behind her neck. "You been here long? Did Kingsley bring you?"

"Everyone asks that," says Harry.

"Kingsley brought Seamus," says Parvati, glancing to the Irish boy with Lavender. The other girl has pulled out a newspaper and appears to be telling him his horoscope. "Luna too, I think. I wasn't here then."

"Ron and Ginny?" asks Harry. "Dean?"

Parvati shrugs. "I think Dean brought in the Weasleys. Met them at a club or something. He's been with Remus the longest."

"What's his deal?"

She looks at him with her soulful eyes. "I'd ask him."

[||[||]||]

Dean carves stencils for spray paint out of cardboard with a box cutter. Harry has volunteered to keep down the edges while he works, sitting on the floor holding the board to the corners of the table.

"How'd you get here?" he asks, tentatively, after watching Dean work in silence for several minutes.

Dean's eyes turn to him, examining him, but he answers. "I was in some bad shit," he says "Remus saved me."

Harry knows that's all he's going to get for now.

"You can let go," Dean says. Harry gets to his feet and looks down at the finished stencil. He can tell even inverted that it is Ginny, looking defiant, all piercings and freckles.

He's seen some of Dean's other work. Ron pointed out a portrait of Parvati behind a bus shelter they walked by once, and he's seen Seamus near the field at the park where they play football sometimes. "Why do you paint them?" he asks.

"To make them visible," says Dean. "To show they're still beautiful. Bent but not broken."

Harry looks down at Ginny's face in the board.

She is quite beautiful, he thinks.

[||[||]||]

When he comes back from the corner shop he recognizes Hermione's hair bent over on the stoop. As he gets closer he can see that she's crying.

She doesn't notice him until he sits beside her and sets his bag down. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Hurriedly wiping her tears away before turning her face up, Hermione asks, "Do you hate me?"

"'Course I don't," says Harry, awkwardly, but truthfully.

"The others do," she says. "I could tell, but I still tried… and then Ron…"

Harry sighs. "What did Ron do?"

"He just shouted at me." She sniffs. "Told me to get my nose out of your business. That you're not zoo animals, you're not a project..."

Unsure what to say to this, Harry pats her back.

"I just wanted to help," Hermione says. "All I want in life is to help people. I thought I - thought I could use my privilege to do something, make people listen."

They sit together in silence for a while.

"You know what's the worst?" she says.

"What?" says Harry.

"That I'd started to look forward to coming here." Hermione bursts into fresh tears. "It was almost like - almost like you were my friends."

Harry wraps an arm around her shoulders.

[||[||]||]

He goes inside and finds Ron, who is sulking on the couch.

"Why'd you say those things to her?" he asks.

"I'm sick of her nosing about," grumbles Ron. "We're none of her business."

"She's just trying to help," says Harry.

Ron snorts. "We don't need help from her."

Harry has heard so many songs of Ron's now: bitter, angry things, about being voiceless in the world. He doesn't know how such pride can coexist with such desperation.

"She wants to understand," he says.

"We're not to be understood," says Ron.

[||[||]||]

The social worker finally arrives on a Monday. Dean and Seamus have climbed out the back before there's even a knock on the door. When there is, Harry answers it, not knowing what he'll find.

She is a squat woman in a pink tweed suit. "Hello," she says in a nursery school teacher voice. "And what's your name?"

"I'm Harry," says Harry.

"Hello, Harry." She smiles sweetly and holds out a gloved hand for him to shake. After a moment of looking at it, he accepts. "My name is Dolores Umbridge. Do you live here, Harry?"

Then Remus intervenes.

Harry can hear Umbridge growing more and more agitated as she and Remus talk in the kitchen. "This is no place for children!" she shrieks. "That boy out there, he's clearly underage, not to mention some of your other charges-"

"I'm eighteen," says Harry loudly. He is ignored.

"Surely it would be best for them to be cared for by someone...capable?" he can hear her say.

"I understand your concern, Dolores," says Remus calmly. "Of course this isn't a suitable environment for a child. I'm sure we can find Harry's identification to prove-"

"That's the sort of thing you've been saying for months," she snaps.

"I know," says Remus. "But-"

"You're lucky I'm on a schedule, Mr. Lupin," she says, heading back past Harry. "Mark my words, I'll be back, and if you haven't got proof…"

"Yes, of course, Dolores," says Remus. When she closes the door behind her he lets out a heavy sigh.

Harry looks up at him. "I think you're capable."

Remus chuckles softly. "Thank you, Harry."

[||[||]||]

"Trust me," says Ginny. "I've done this before."

"To who?" asks Harry.

"Myself," she says.

He is not sure what to make of that.

She takes the lobe of his ear between her soft fingertips, rubbing it. "It'll only take a second," she says. Harry waits nervously as she secures a wedge of apple behind his ear and prepares the needle. "Ready?" Ginny asks.

"Yeah," says Harry.

He is so ready. He is tired of being the outsider, the suburban interloper, the square.

He is not ready for the sharp pain. He yelps.

"Oh, don't be a baby," says Ginny, her mouth turned teasingly upward. "It's over now."

She brings him up to the mirror in the dining room, where he can see the safety pin she put through the new hole in his ear. Over his shoulder she admires her work. "I like it," she says. "Very tough."

"Yeah?" he replies.

"You're a regular punk now," Ginny says.

He knows she's making fun, but he does feel like one of them now. Like part of something.

[||[||]||]

Harry's first gig is the most exhilarating thing he's ever done. Even more than just standing in the club, which he didn't think was possible. Even more than letting a strange man whisk him off the Dursleys' doorstep.

They get up there and the lights are so bright that all he can see is Ginny's silhouette at the microphone. She seems giant when she stands there. Ron and his guitar are bending off at the side, a few lingering notes flowing from his fingers as he tunes.

And then they play.

He is so caught up in everything that he flubs a few things but nobody seems to notice or care. Everyone is shouting, cheering, dancing. It fills the basement space to the brim.

They pour into the night air afterwards and Ron hangs around his neck. "That was brilliant!"

"Brilliant!" agrees Harry.

Ginny worms her way between them. "I love you guys."

"And we love you," Harry replies, still adrenaline-drunk.

Ron scoffs. "Yeah, yeah, lots of love. Let's get home."

[||[||]||]

They get home and no one is there. "Must be out," says Ron, setting his guitar case down against the couch.

Everyone is out for a long time. Ron passes out on the couch, dead tired and a little drunk. Harry and Ginny play cards. And then the door slams open. It is Seamus, Luna trailing behind him like a ghost. Ron stirs groggily.

"There you are," says Seamus. His face is ashen in the low light. "Remus is in hospital. They say he'll live, but you should come back with us and see him. Sirius and Dean are there."

"What happened?" asks Harry, though he notices looking around that he is the only one who seems surprised.

"Overdose," mutters Seamus.

"Overdose?"

"He's an addict," says Ginny gently. "Since he was young. Thought you knew."

[||[||]||]

They stuff themselves into the room, too many dirty people in such a clean place. Kingsley comes to see him too, and Hermione, and some people Harry doesn't recognize. The nurses seem surprised this man has so many friends. They all look at him, waiting for his eyes to flutter.

Has Remus always looked this old, this thin? Harry can't believe this is the same man he met those months ago on his first night in the house. He had been so warm, so alive then. Here he is closer to dead.

Ginny's hand slips into his. He squeezes.

[||[||]||]

Harry and Ron wait on the steps outside of Hermione's human studies class; Harry is entirely conscious of his pierced ear and Ron's grungy hair and both of their outfits, all holes and rips and a bit too dirty. Everything in this place seems clean cut and pristine- the benches, the stairs, the brick buildings.

They are out of place, and they know it.

They aren't the only ones to know, either. They are told twice not to loiter- once by a passing professor, once by a snobby student- but for the most part, passing people avoid them.

Hermione comes out of the classroom at 11:15, clutching her books and with a pen behind her ear, and she stops a little away from them, her mouth open in a surprised "oh!"

"Hi," says Harry, awkward, and he raises one hand halfway to wave. Hermione hurries down the stairs.

"What are you guys doing here? Is Remus okay?"

"Yeah," says Ron. He clears his throat. "The doctors say he'll be fine."

"That's good," says Hermione, visibly relaxing.

Harry scratches at his nose and glances sideways at Ron.

"I," starts Ron, "I wanted to say. I'm sorry about yelling at you."

"Oh," says Hermione. "Oh, no, don't be. You're right."

"No," says Ron, somewhat bolder now. "You're just trying to help. I'm sorry."

Hermione smiles and looks down. "I try," she says. "I try to help. And I know I'm not one of you-"

"You're a damn sight closer to belonging than anyone else out there," says Ron, and Harry looks between the two of them and feels himself break into a small smile.

[||[||]||]

Nobody laughs for a while. Most things don't faze the inhabitants of the house but this, this seems to be insurmountable. The sobriety that blankets them is crushing.

Sirius brings Remus back within a couple days, and everyone treats him like a glass thing, a priceless sculpture. When they hug him it is gentle, barely there, like holding someone elderly and brittle-boned.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," grumbles Remus, grabbing Harry hard against him, vigorously patting his back.

Even when he's home things aren't back the way they used to be. The shadow of almost-death still hangs over them. A lot of talking happens in private.

"You're getting clean," says Dean to Remus, so forcefully Harry can make it out from upstairs. "You made me, now I'm making you."

Ginny sits with him on his mattress, her head on his shoulder. She talks about her life before this, her house, her family.

"Why'd you come here?" Harry asks. "If you had that?"

She snorts. "Adventure. Imagine that."

[||[||]||]

Some of them had homes once. Luna talks of her father, Seamus of his mother. Harry knows Ron and Ginny were loved; Ron still calls home sometimes just to let their family know they're alright.

Harry, thought, has never known anything like this. He has had a house before, but not a home, not a family.

There is a lot of love in the house. There are private loves: Ron's long glances at Hermione, Dean's fingers brushing Seamus's hair behind an ear. Ginny on the other side of his mattress. But there is also a communal love, something that bonds them all and ties them to each other, to the peeling walls around them. That thing that makes homes, that he has always been left out of.

He sits with Sirius at the dining table drinking tea out of chipped mugs. Remus is in bed - he spends a lot of time there these days.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should have brought you here," says Sirius. "I know they didn't treat you well, but with your aunt and uncle you had more, you know, respectable people, good food, a house that wasn't falling down around you…"

Harry laughs. "I don't care about any of that."

The corner of Sirius's mouth quirks up. "You're James's son, you are," he says. For the first time Harry is unsure whether he means it as a good thing.

"I'm glad I'm here," he insists. "You have no idea, I've never had anything like this-" He isn't sure how to express that these feelings of belonging feel more vital to his survival than basic needs.

Sirius reaches out and rubs Harry's shoulder. "Well I'm glad I had something to give you, at any rate."

"Best thing anyone ever has," Harry assures him.

[||[||]||]

Hermione is sitting in the lawn chair, flicking through a large stack of papers, when Harry and Ron return from playing football in the park.

Ron's eyebrows are raised, looking surprised that she's letting that ratty thing touch her bum. "What is it now?" he asks, teasing. "Here to find out whether I eat my vegetables? Brush my teeth? Change my underwear?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Er, no, actually," she says. "I just wanted to say, well… I've finished my thesis." With a small, proud smile, she holds up the papers in her lap.

"Congratulations," says Harry, moving over to pat her shoulder. Ron stays where his is. His amused grin has become an odd look, not quite faded from his face yet without any mirth.

"This goodbye, then?" he asks.

Hermione looks to him, and Harry thinks he sees a little hurt in her face. "I- If you want it to be, I suppose…"

Harry is ready to show Ron a bit of sense but the other boy quickly replies, "I didn't say that."

And softening, Hermione smiles. "Then I expect I'll keep coming round."

Ron sits on the ground beside her chair and Harry follows suit, leaning back and propping himself up on his hands. He looks at them. Hermione in her corduroys and cardigan, Ron in his ripped jacket and too-short jeans. Both of them, earnest and determined and good.

He looks at the falling-down house and is overcome with fondness for it, for all the people in it, for everything it brought him.

Ron bumps his shoulder with his own. "Earth to Harry."

"Sorry," says Harry. "Just thinking."


End file.
